University of Virginia Library

Scene Third.

—Interior of large Mercer's Shop; counters R. and L.; doors, C. Shopmen behind counters serving Customers; Mauve Magenta, the shop-walker, is parading the shop; all old fashioned; scene bustling and lively.
Music—Air, “Market Chorus, Masaniello.”
Mauve.
(to Old Lady, R.)
Madam, I trust our goods give satisfaction?

Old Lady.
They don't, and I intend to bring an action,
That farthingale I bought last week is soiled,
Spotted with grease I find, completely spoiled.

Mauve.
To kick up any breeze is no avail,
A penny breeze about a farthingale;
It's mean— (returns parcel, and to another Lady, L.)
I hope you've found, ma'am, what you wish?

Our Lady.
(snappishly)
Certainly not, your goods are all rubbish;
You haven't got the coloured silk I want. (going)


Mauve.
(interupting her)
Good gracious! yes, we have, depend upon't.
Come in, give trouble, go and not buy anything,
Not so much as the value of a penny thing.
You call yourself a lady. (she seizes a roll of calico from counter, L.)
What, defied!
And by a woman—Walker!

Lady.
Stand aside!

(knocks him down into the arms of a Shopman and exit, C., followed by all other Customers grumbling)
Mauve.
Defeated! Some poor wretch shall feel my power—
That George de Barnwell has been out an hour!

Shopman.
See, sir, he comes with slow and measured paces,
Full of reflective thoughtfulness his face is.

Mauve.
(aside)
I like him not—he trying for my place is.

Music—Enter George de Barnwell, C., thoughtfully; he carries a parcel and yard measure.
Mauve.
And so, sir, you've come back,

Barn.
(looking up)
I have returned.

Mauve.
How were you treated by the Countess?

Barn.
(with animation)
Spurned!
I up the flaunting flight of steps did mount,
To ask the Countess for her small account;
She heard and laughed at me, while three or four
Huge pampered menials thrust me from the door,
And as I down the sharps steps flying came
Grazed the more nubbly portions of my frame.
(Shopmen go up and laugh)
They little know the man they kicked contains,
Aristocratic fluid in his veins!
That he who down the stone stairs flying went,
Could really boast of a most high descent;
De Barnwell, whose poor nose is scraped and sore!
Traces his lineage from the Konkey-raw!
Silence, ambitious boy! These grinning knaves—
These sniggering servile sycophantic slaves—
These counter-skipping varlets, here who know
Nothing beyond their silk and calico,
Don't understand thee. Keep poetic fervour
For times when you're alone, with no observer!
Meanwhile the bade, the counter-yard and shelf.
Heart, heart look inwards—feed upon thyself!

(blows his nose with emotion)
Mauve.
The guv'nor!

(Shopmen skip to their places)
Enter Thoroughgood, Maria, and Trueman, R. 1 E.
Thoro.
Friends, all work and no play
Makes Jack a dull boy; so a holiday,
I beg to give you. Go forth, happy be,
He—hem, and don't return till after tea.

Mauve.
A cheer for Thoroughgood!

Thoro.
Oh, no!

All.
Hurray!

Barn.
I'm not quite well, at home I'd rather stay,
As for the rest they may accept the boon.
Your custom always of an afternoon
Is rather slack. At home I'd rather stop,
For solitude I love—and mind the shop.

True.
(aside, L.)
And with the shop his eye, for I shall watch him,
And if in anything suspicious cotch him,
Let him beware.

Maria.
Dear George.

Thoro.
Come, girl, don't pout.
(to Shopmen)
You'd better sing a chorus and get out.

Concerted Piece.—“Zip Coon.”
Thoro.
Cut away, lads and lasses, to this hop skip tune.

True.
Cut away for time presses, 'twill be evening soon.

Thoro.
Never mind George de Barnwell, he's a melancholy spoon.

Barn.
I prefer to stop in here, sir, the entire afternoon.

Thoro.
What, all the afternoon?

Barn.
(faintly)
Yes, all the afternoon.

All.
What, all the afternoon?

Barn.
Yes, all the afternoon.
I'm never very jolly,
And this afternoon, it's true,
I feel more melancholy
Than I usually do.

All
(repeat)
Cut away, lads, &c., &c.

(the Shopmen dance off, C., Thoroughgood and Maria, R.—Trueman follows them with tragic strides, with his eyes fixed on De Barnwell)
Barn.
Down to a counter brought, oh, sad disgrace!
Is this the last of the De Barnwell race?
I, who've a throbbing and ambitious soul
The strongest waistcoat buttons can't control.
Maria loves me, but I must look higher;
I like Maria, but I can't marry her!
'Twill break her heart.—No matter, I have seen
My soul's adored, heart's idol, fancy's queen!
'Twas in the pit tier that I first did meet her;
I thought I never saw a pittier creature.
I called her carriage, as she left the lobby,
Although I was pushed backwards by a bobby;
I saw she smiled on me, than Romeo madder,
Ever since then I've been her living shadder,
Her wild adorer, her entranced lov-er;
Round her I hover, thinking always hof-her.
Song—Air, “Cottage by the Sea.”

Music—Enter Lady Milwood, from behind statue, R.U.E.
Milwood.
I want to look at some Chantilly lace.
There seems to be no shopman in the place!

(stamps her foot)
Barn.
(awakes and rises)
I'm the assistant.

Milwood
(aside)
No, it cannot be.
It is!

Barn.
(aside)
It is!

Milwood.
It is—'tis he!

Barn.
'Tis she!

Duet—“There is a young Woman.”
(Goes behind counter and nervously piles up goods)
What can I show you handsome and expensive?
Our stock of summer silks is most extensive.
(aside)
She smiles, she loves me, oh, despair, distraction!
(aloud)
These silks from Spitalfields give satisfaction.
They're cheap since the decline and fall—not Gibbon's,—
But of the weavers—lovely thing in ribbons.
(aside)
Her beauteous eyes surpass all other women's,
With love I'm mad! Is it delirium? trimmings!

Milwood.
Excuse me, sir, if I appear to be,
Impelled by vulgar curiosity,
But though a shopman's boldness you appear
To ape, you wer'nt born for the shopman's sphere.

Barn.
Mum, the De Barnwells—

Milwood
(rising and aside)
Oh, enchanting name.

Barn.
With Will the Conqueror to England came,
Though poor we're passing proud—as for the rest,
Our birth is noble, and unstained our crest.

Milwood.
There is a lordly presence in your eye!

Barn.
Which, mum?

Milwood.
In both—that seemeth to defy
The frowns of fortune; say, is this not true—
Doth not De Barnwell dross despise?

Barn.
(proudly)
He do!

Milwood.
You are romantic!

Barn.
Rather!

Milwood.
And a poet!
You wrote these lines—your mantling blush doth shew it. (produces pamphlet)


Barn.
Allow me!

Milwood.
Nay—with it I ne'er will part;
For weeks and weeks I've worn them next my heart.
(reads in trembling accents)
“Ye who would look the nobly born, I vow, sirs,
At once try Thoroughgood's twelve shilling trowsers;
The cut, and the material must please,
They never become baggy at the knees;
The price twelve shillings, which but double six is—
Twelve shillings for the Montmorency kicksies.”
How charmingly expressed!

Barn.
They're rather choice.

Milwood.
I knew so by the accents of your voice;
There's a melodious cadence in its tones,
So different from those of Mr. Jones,
Who generally serves me when I come.

Barn.
(raturously)
Thrice happy Jones! I beg your pardon, mum.

Milwood.
Nay, I'm not offended, but time presses,
And I have not selected the new dresses.
It ne'er has been my lot to meet with yet—
Sir, your attentions I can ne'er forget.
(she takes his hand—he appears thrilled at the touch)
Farewell!

Barn.
Lady, our summer silks are stunning, stay—

Milwood.
It's getting late, and what might people say.

Barn.
(conceitedly)
Precisely so.

Milwood.
The world's so merciless.
I find it difficult to choose a dress—
I will, with your permission, take 'em all. (sweeps up a great pile of goods)

And if at my address you'll kindly call—
(Barnwell starts and supports himself by chair)
What ails you?

Barn.
(dreamily)
N-nothing.

Milwood.
Something surely, sir.

Barn.
Nothing at all—and I shall call on her!

Duet—“Lucia.”
Milwood.
'Tis late growing,
There's no knowing
What folks may say at my stopping;
Hints be dropping,
On my shopping
At so late an hour you know.

Barn.
Direful thoughts my breast are filling,
I, poor fool, ain't worth a shilling,
I feel such an awful “Willing,”
Agony, despair and woe!

Milwood.
Now farewell, for I must go!

Barn.
Oh! oh! oh! oh!

Milwood.
Oh! oh! oh! oh!
Now farewell, &c.
Exit Milwood, C.

Barn.
(R.)
It's no use. Gracious! what is this I see?
Young Wilkins in his desk has left his key;
I've but to turn the lock—oh, Milwood! Milwood!
It is for thee De Barnwell rob the till would.
The cover of the desk once lifted, I'd
Immediately desk over what's inside. (opens it)

Cheques! notes, and guineas! and a bank post bill!
The shop with all its faults, I love its till.
(pockets the money)
Now to my tailor quick—away, away;
My soul's in arms, and eager for the—
(rushing out)

Enter Trueman, R.; abruptly seizes him.
True.
Stay!
Stay, stay, your manner something wrong betrays;

Barn.
Think you to hold me with a pair of stays?

True.
A pair of stays! Your station you forget;

Barn.
Bother! I've done with you and your course set!

True.
Corset and stay, my bosom friend and pally,
Your manner's too much of the lacey alley!
(seizes Barnwell)
Drop that till-gotten wealth; your plans I'll spoil,
And the designs of guilt on that tin foil;
I watched the whole proceeding—'twas a bold 'un—
Through the keyhole—

Barn.
Indeed! Now hark'e, old un:
I'm desperate! there! (Music—breaks from him, and seizes an enormous pair of scissors from R. counter)
Ha, what a pair of fizzers!
There, there, and there—there, there, and there!

(stabs him six times)
True.
(falls)
Oh, scissors!

Barn.
Thus perish those who'd thwart me in my mission,
Or seek to curb my towering ambition!

(wipes scissors on Trueman's coat)
True.
Oh, trait'rous dog!

Barn.
Shut up! (hits him on the head; he drops as dead)
What have I done?
He breathes—ah, yes, he must! (kneels beside him)
No breath—not one!
I must away.

Music—creeps towards door, C.; Trueman rises, seizes him, turns him round, and struggles to counter, R.; seizes Watchman's rattle, which he springs.
Enter Thoroughgood with napkin tucked under his chin, as if he had been interrupted at dinner, followed by Maria, R. 1 E.
Thoro.
(C.)
Trueman! what means this riot?
Stuck!

True.
By De Barnwell.

Thoro.
(going to seize him)
Scoundrel!

Barn.
Don't you try it.

True.
He's robbed the till, and me he's tried to kill.

Barn.
Villain! I rob the till, beast! (crosses to him)


True.
Yes,

Barn.
(strikes him)
Be still!

Concerted piece, “Billy Patterson.”
Barn.
He who attempts to lay finger on me,
Or of old Baily patters—on—
His fate disagreeable and speedily will be.

True.
He did kill me! he did kill me!

Maria.
Oh, George de Barnwell, pray,
Oh, George, don't go away;
My heart will break I know;
Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! oh!

Barn.
Good-bye, dear Ma-ri-ah,
And Thoroughgood, tar-tar,
De Barnwell ne'er was meant to be,
A low hab-er-dash-er!—

All.
Good bye, &c., &c., &c.

Barnwell dances off, C., Trueman, R., Thoroughgood and Maria, L.